


Red Wings

by Write_like_an_American



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Cunnilingus, I'm sorry and I can't stress that enough, Kraglin earns his red wings, M/M, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Rough Sex, Smut, Trans Yondu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 19:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/pseuds/Write_like_an_American
Summary: Kraglin earns his red wings. Entirely the fault of whoever prompted this on tumblr.





	Red Wings

**Author's Note:**

> **The final tumblr prompt fill! This, uh. Does what it says on the tin. I'm sorry.**

Captain was in one hell of a mood.

Most folks would be surprised that Kraglin could tell. They’d mutter behind cupped palms that Yondu Udonta was a cyclone of a man, with rage always simmering beneath his surface and mad cackling laughter under that. He was, to the majority of his crew, his enemies, and all sentient lifeforms in the system who knew his name, as unpredictable and arbitrary as the solar winds.

But solar winds only seemed arbitrary to those too dim-witted to understand them. If you hadn't read about how the rad-outputs of stars interacted with the laws of gravity, of course they'd seem wild and untamable. Captain Udonta only seemed like a typhoon to them that didn’t know him.

Kraglin knew him. Intimately. Often. But, for one astral week every couple of lunar cycles, he didn’t know him at all.

Captain’s bodyclock worked a mite slower than most cunt-bearing bipedes in the quadrant. But hey. Not Kraglin’s business. Just because they were regularly rubbing genitals didn’t mean he had to get all up in his captain’s personal shit – especially when that personal shit involved stomach cramps, overlong bathroom trips, and a helluva lot of bog clogs from the wadges of bloody paper that got flushed down the vacuum chutes towards the matter processors in the galleon’s burbling core.

But his quiet determination to let his captain keep his secrets, didn’t change the fact that Kraglin knew exactly what was going on. Or, unfortunately, that at this rate Yondu was going to butcher half the Bridge crew and they were gonna have to train up new recruits from scratch, all because he was too damn proud to tell Kraglin he was on his period.

Now, Kraglin prided himself on his rank. He was an excellent first mate. Efficient. Methodical. He might not be as beefy as those who'd contended him in the past, but at the end of the day he retained the title besides his name in the rosters because he was a damn good haggler, and he Got Crap Done. It might be tempting fate to say it, but Kraglin was one of the rare people on board with job security.

Of course, that didn’t mean Yondu _wouldn’t_ disembowel him, if Kraglin ever got ahead of himself and bragged to a crowd of leering Ravagers about how he could take their captain apart with a twist of his fingers or a flick of his tongue; or if he sat up one morning and decided to rid the galaxy of one of the names on the list of Kree nobles he heard Yondu muttering in his sleep; or if he let an ‘I love you’ slip free when he was balls-deep inside Yondu, and the flex of his captain’s pussy was attuned to the pulse of his cock like they were two throbbing, undulating halves of the same stars-damned being.

Y’know. All that stuff he was too smart to find tempting.

But anyway, fact of the matter was, Kraglin was good at his job. And part of that job was keeping his captain happy. Failing _happy_ , 'not prone to murdering anyone important' would have to do.

“Boss,” he said. He didn’t sidle between Yondu and the man he had pinned to a wall, whose pants were getting steadily wetter as his captain snarled in his face. He wasn’t _suicidal._ But he did stand to one side, hands clasped behind his back in the military at-ease, a tall and peaky monolith encroaching on the fringe of Yondu’s vision.

He didn’t reason with him. Didn’t grovel or snivel or plead – the captive Ravager was doing enough of that, as the arrow tickled his eyeball and his piss seeped through the gusset of his jumpsuit, plinking through the grills and evaporating on contact with the super-heated plasma coils below. Kraglin didn't even take the logician's route, and tell Yondu that this man, yellow-bellied though he might be, was still a chief comms officer, and they didn’t have anyone with the aptitude to replace him.

He simply stood there, stiff-backed and soldierly, and let that ‘boss’ hang between them, like the fishy stench of urine and the pant of the man’s racing breath.

Yondu held him aloft for a further five seconds, just because he could. Then he shoved him away. He kicked up his piss-splashed boots to wipe on the opposite pant leg.

Only Kraglin saw the scrunch of his nose, as his pad (or whatever else he had up there; a reusable cup, most likely) shifted. Or at least, only Kraglin knew what it meant.

Next moment, the full force of Yondu’s wrath was on him.

“What,” he snarled.

It was like standing in the rays of a supergiant, unprotected by rad-proofed glass or a vac-suit. Kraglin was baking in his boots. He snapped his heels together, glaring at a midpoint over Yondu’s left shoulder.

“Thought ya could use some stress relief, sir!”

“Stress relief?” Right call. He knew what that slow burst of Yondu’s pupils meant. The black cores of his eyes dilated like the supermassive at the galaxy’s heart, siphoning matter in a gluttonous feast.

Yondu wasn’t pissed off. Yondu was _frustrated._ Yondu was horny and desperate and grouchy as all hell because of it.

Because the idiot was too stubborn to see to his body’s needs on his lonesome? Or because he thought Kraglin would be…

What? Disgusted? Freaked out?

Kraglin met Yondu’s eyes. He licked his lips, deliberate and purposeful. Yondu’s growl caught in his throat.

“Stress relief,” he repeated, turning in a snap of leather. “Yer one sick fucker, Obfonteri.” But he didn’t say _no_ , and when Kraglin shrugged and stepped into line behind him, the arrow zipped to Yondu’s belt rather than making Hraxian kebob.

You had to be grateful for the little things, with a guy like Yondu. Kraglin made the most of his continued existence, and followed.

 

* * *

 

 

It was messy.

That much was expected. Kraglin had known what he was getting into, and hadn’t let any of Yondu’s dubious scowls or his hesitation before pushing down his grotty underwears stop him. He just knelt there, placid and patient, angled so Yondu could see how hard the thought of it got him; how he was stiff and leaking just from imagining what it would be like to taste Yondu's blood without first having to bite.

However, there was messy and then there was _messy._ Yondu’d always been a squirter, and if they didn’t invest in towels the mattress got soggier and squelchier after every round, until spores puffed when you sat too hard. This wasn’t too different. Just because the juices clinging to his beard were navy rather than clear, and the copper on his tongue came from Yondu’s body rather than Kraglin’s nostrils or the gap of a punched-out tooth… Not too different. And not too bad.

Kraglin’s dick certainly hadn’t got the message that drinking his captain’s menstrual blood wasn’t supposed to be a turn on. He rubbed himself, having freed the slim prong of his cock to its nest of scraggly pubic hair, crusty with lice shells and sweat.

The precum was neither of a quantity or consistency to soften the calluses on his hands – he’d have to get Yondu to rub him off after. Captain’s palms were only smooth in comparison to Kraglin’s own. But he’d spent a lifetime filching gimcrack from souvenir stalls rather than wielding a pistol, and to Kraglin, a being of angles and edges and rough hairy skin, his captain felt soft as spider-silk.

Kraglin’s throat worked thickly. His mouth felt grimed. Claggy, viscous, wet. Blood pasted his teeth together, thickening the saliva strings that joined his tongue-tip to the bright damp bead of a clit.

What must Yondu see? Kraglin pictured himself; hunched like a wild thing, blood-splattered and fey, a creature that had stowed away the last time they made port on a derelict outpost, searching for salvage or scrap. His bones moved against the surface of his skin as he leaned in, eyes on Yondu, and nuzzled his mound open with his chin.

Stubble scratched delicate flesh. Kraglin groaned. He had to push the sound through his jaws when upper and lower teeth stuck. He forced his mouth apart, and Yondu flinched like he expected a chomp. But there was only a tongue, tickling his labia. It traced his hood in a feather-light swirl before starting its flutter anew. Kraglin alternated fast flicks with velvety drags, tongue skidding, sloppy-eager as a dog. He reached up, clawed over his captain's chest until his groping fingers found the ring in Yondu’s nipple.

A hand buried in his Mohawk. The other one fastened to the bedpost, white-knuckled and shaking. Yondu’s hips jerked and his abdomen spasmed and he ground his pussy on Kraglin’s face, clenching and clutching and shuddering like a ship riddled by a rail-canon. He’d chosen to squat on the bed’s edge, Kraglin between his thighs, and his toes curled desperately in their latest ruined towel. “More, more, _more_ …”

Pausing might earn him a smack, but it was well-worth the risk. “Yessir,” growled Kraglin. He sucked the blood from Yondu’s clit, then drew back to watch it twitch. One more lap should do it.

Kraglin coupled it with a turn of the hoop punched through Yondu’s nipple. He twisted the nubbin so tight on itself that Yondu arched like the string on the bow he’d never inherited, passed down from his father’s father, and his father before him.

He strained into the orgasm, fucking air. Kraglin retreated, blood-daubed as a demon. He shut his eyes, the hand on Yondu’s chest reverberating with the thunder of his heart, and smiled to himself as his face got a whole lot wetter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Leave kudos if you made it to the end! Prompts are open again - first come first served. I can only handle five at once (eeeeey) so please send them to my tumblr, write-like-an-american . tumblr . com!**


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